


I'll Get Back to Work

by nofearqueerhere



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time Blow Jobs, M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-06 23:20:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3152093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nofearqueerhere/pseuds/nofearqueerhere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What does he want with me? If it’s sex, surely he could find someone more attractive and skilled, someone that won’t inevitably disappoint him. And if it’s more than that. . . I’m not sure that’s something I can handle right now."</p><p>Ianto POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Get Back to Work

The sudden buzzing of my phone startles me awake, jumping in my chair, hand jerking up to wipe a trail of drool from my chin. I reach for the phone immediately, praying it’s not some horrible disaster, and I’m relieved to see it’s a message from Jack.

 

_Daydreaming on the job? Hope it’s something niiiiice ;)_

Natural reflex leads me to look around, even though I know I won’t see him. Jack is probably hidden well out of sight, if he’s even near me at all. More likely he’s in the control room, watching on camera. Watching me sleep. At work.

  

I really was just sleeping, too. As much as Jack likes to put innuendo in _everything_ , he’s wrong on this occasion. I’d had a late night, and morning had come all too soon, leaving me snoozing over my coffee (and piles of paperwork) by half past ten. Jack, of course, is wide-awake and chipper, and his work schedule is clearly open enough to spend time spying on me. I sigh, rub my hands across my face, and pick up my phone to type out a reply.

 

_Sorry sir, late night working. Couldn’t keep my eyes open. Won’t happen again._

I know my curt answer isn’t what he was hoping for, but I can’t help it. He makes me nervous and I just shut down. Do I hate it when he flirts with me? No. Not even a little. There have even been times when my judgment has lapsed and I’ve reciprocated, leading to some kisses, lots of groping, and one very memorable hand job in the basement. But I panic every time and pull back, distant for a few days after. Jack is larger-than-life. He’s been with literally thousands of people (and some not-people, as he frequently reminds me). I’ve been with a few women, yeah, but never with a man. What does he expect to find special in me? I’m shy and awkward and have very little idea how I might even go about giving him any sort of sexual pleasure (not that my imagination hasn’t wandered). What does he want with me? If it’s sex, surely he could find someone more attractive and skilled, someone that won’t inevitably disappoint him. And if it’s more than that. . . I’m not sure that’s something I can handle right now.

 

When I hear my phone go off again, I roll my eyes at the fact that I’ve been lost in Jack-thoughts since putting it down. And I know he’s been watching me not-working. There’s no fooling him, not in the Hub. He can be anywhere with those stupid cameras.

 

_You sure? You seem pretty distracted. Need any help with that?_

It’s tempting. My thumbs twitch with the urge to type _yes_ , _I need you, please, I’ve wanted you for so long, you make me feel like I’m going mad, please. . ._

 

But I don’t. I write back:

 

_No, thank you, sir. I’ll get back to work._

 

And I do, finally, after making myself a fresh cup of coffee. It’s easier with the adrenaline of successfully evading Jack’s advances (though why I’m so determined to evade them is beyond me). I make my way through the accumulated paperwork steadily, reducing it to half as it draws closer to noon. I take a moment to stand and stretch as a reward for this accomplishment before sitting back down to keep plugging away.

 

The buzzing of my phone is almost immediate, three times in quick succession.

 

_Lookin’ good ;)_

_You’ve been working hard. Need a back massage?_

_Or how about some lunch?_

 

I resist the instinct to cringe, not wanting him to see my reaction. I’m not sure why it makes me so uncomfortable. From anyone else, texts like these would come across as extremely predatory and completely inappropriate, but it’s not really that. Sexual harassment is astoundingly prevalent in this particular workplace, but somehow it never feels malicious or demeaning. Honestly I feel more disgusted with myself than with Jack. I _like_ when he talks to me this way, as the stirrings in my lower belly at every stupid winky face can attest. But I hate my own reactions, hate that my body is betraying Lisa and heterosexuality and my own resolve.

 

 _You okay_? a fourth message comes across the screen.

 

I bite my lip. My thumb hovers over the keys. It’s just lunch. And it’s a chance to spend some time with Jack, which I always find very hard to resist. We can both behave ourselves over lunch, can’t we?

 

 _Lunch sounds great_ , I write. _Anything in particular sound good? I can pick it up for us._

I can almost picture his smirk, and the reply comes far too quickly. _Come up to my office._

 

I let out a long, slow breath. It could be nothing. He could just want to chat about what to have for lunch, or he may want me to take everyone’s orders. But I still have to scoot in closer to the desk to hide from view as I adjust myself within my trousers. It’s a very real possibility that Jack is waiting naked in his office at this very moment. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time.

 

He’s not naked, though, and I can’t tell if the slow settling of my rapidly beating heart is relief or disappointment. He’s seated, calm and collected, almost businesslike. And he invites me to sit too, staring at me for a long minute.

 

“Erm. . . lunch? Sir?” I venture, uncomfortable under his gaze.

 

“I wanted to talk first, if that’s okay,” he says steadily but not unkindly.

 

I nod. “Of course, sir.”

 

“Do I make you uncomfortable?”

 

Well _that_ certainly wasn’t what I was expecting. I clear my throat, trying to think of the words, then clear it again. Finally I realize my silence could be taken as an affirmative, so I quickly blurt out “No!”

 

He stares, doubt evident in his eyes.

 

“No, sir, I, erm. . . I mean, it’s not you. . . it’s, you see, Lisa, and I’m not. . . well I’ve never been. . . never had. . . with a man, and I don’t know. . . Why do you ask?” I’m panting by the time I’m finished. _Good god, Ianto, speak English much?_

Jack stares some more, apparently trying to glean enough meaning from the nonsense I’ve just spewed out to form a reply. Finally: “You just seem like I do. Make you uncomfortable. And that’s not something I want to do. I didn’t realize you weren’t. . . Well, clearly I misread some signals. I thought you were, you know, interested.”

 

“No! I mean, yes. I mean, don’t think I’m. . . uninterested. That’s not it at all, sir. I’m very interested.” Ugh, even talking about it has me feeling rather _interested_ right now. “Clearly I’m not very good at showing it. Sometimes I just, I dunno, get nervous. Like I said, it’s not you.”

 

“Are you sure? I know I come on strong, Ianto, and I don’t want you to feel pressured into doing anything you don’t want –”

 

“I _want_ to, Jack!” I blurt out before I can stop myself. “I want _you_. God, you’ve no idea.” I’m sweating, gripping the arms of the chair with the effort of restraining myself from jumping his bones. “I’ve just got absolutely no experience and I won’t be any good and I can’t imagine what you’d want in _me_.”

 

He just keeps looking at me. God, now I’ve done it. He thinks I’m a bloody idiot. “Ianto. . . just to be clear here. You think you won’t satisfy me, and that’s why you’ve been holding back?” I nod. “Is any of this. . . is it because I’m a man?”

 

“No,” I say too quickly, not fooling even myself for a second. “No, I mean, I don’t have a problem with it, I just don’t know how. . . you know. I. . .” I can feel my face going beet red as I mumble, “I want to be good for you.”

 

Jack grins that hungry grin that makes me harden slightly in my trousers. “So that’s what’s standing in the way of you kissing me right now?”

 

I swallow hard and nod slightly.

 

He laughs. “Then what the hell are you waiting for?”

 

Inside, it feels like something snaps. My heart rate feels like it doubles, my hands start to shake, my cock grows instantly harder. But I try to move slowly, to give the impression that I’m calm and collected and not at all desperate or freaking out. I stand and walk around behind the desk. Jack doesn’t stand to meet me, just gestures for me to sit, and I do, straddling him, warmth spreading through my whole body at the contact.

 

And then we’re kissing.

 

We’ve done this before, but it sort of feels like the first time. He feels impossibly hungry and tender at the same time. It’s strange, being on top and not feeling like I’ll crush him; his strong arms encircle me and force me against his muscular chest. My hands move jerkily from twining in his hair to resting on his shoulders to caressing his cheek, feeling slight stubble under my fingers. We’re not just kissing, we’re almost fucking right there in his desk chair – and it feels natural, the push and pull of movement and dominance, our mingled frantic breaths, his hips pushing up into mine. It feels easy and right.

 

“How ya doin’?” he breathes at my ear, nipping at my jaw before taking my earlobe into his mouth.

 

“Ah! Good. . . good. I’m okay, I’m good,” I assure him, trying to urge him on.

 

His mouth releases my ear to allow him to pull back and start unbuttoning his shirt. His bracers are already off his shoulders, no doubt the work of my own thoughtless wandering hands. My jacket’s gone too, tossed to the floor and long forgotten; I try to start unbuttoning my own shirt, but my hands shake too much. With a brief kiss, Jack moves to help me, pulling both my shirt and undershirt off in a matter of seconds.

 

“Is this okay?” he asks without pausing for an answer, pulling my mouth back to his. I laugh around his lips at his enthusiasm. _Though we will have to work on this whole consent thing_. . . For now, though, I have no complaints as his hands trace the waistband of my trousers, fingers running over my happy trail.

 

He’s undoing my belt before it occurs to me to worry about exactly what his expectations are. Surely he won’t want to. . . not that I wouldn’t. In fact, my hips buck up at the thought. But I don’t think I’m ready for that. I need a little time, I need to do some research, I need – and then he’s biting my neck, hard, and I can’t think of anything I need besides _this_.

 

“I can feel you thinking,” he groans in my ear, pressing his flat palm up to my chest before rubbing a thumb over my nipple. I grunt. “Tell me.”

 

“I just. . .” The things his thumb is doing make it very difficult to concentrate. I place my hand on his chest to steady myself, but end up distracted by his nipples. He pinches mine to remind me to talk. “Ah! I – what are you expecting? What do you want me to –”

 

Jack cuts me off with a kiss that’s more teeth than lips. “I want you to relax. I’m gonna make you feel so good, Ianto. I’m gonna show you that you already know what to do. This?” He thrusts his hips up into me, letting me feel his hard length between my legs. “This is natural, just trust your body.”

 

I want to laugh – of course Jack would think gay sex is natural and instinctual. Hell, inter-species sex is probably a no-brainer to him. But it’s hard to laugh as he pushes me off of him, stands, and starts on his own belt.

 

“Jack, wait.” I throw myself on him, sucking at his neck. This is easier if I don’t have to look him in the eyes. “Will you. . . will you tell me what to do? Sir?”

 

His hand clenches on my waist. For a second I think he’s angry, but then his hands go back to frantically force the button of his trousers open. “Stand against the desk,” he orders me, voice hoarse and eyes dark with arousal.

 

He yanks my trousers and pants down without warning, only a glance up at me to confirm that it’s okay. His are gone seconds later, and he’s standing there in front of me totally naked, almost within arm’s reach. But he doesn’t move closer. . . instead his hand trails across his stomach, down to wrap around his own impressive length. I feel my face reddening again as he starts to slide his hand up and down. I watch, panting and slack-jawed, until he speaks.

 

“Come on, Ianto. Touch yourself. I want to see.”

 

“Jack –” I start to protest, but then I remember I _did_ ask him to tell me what to do. I force myself to reach down, arousal winning out over embarrassment, letting out a long hiss as my fingers close around my cock. I’m almost nervous to move, certain I could come any second. I do move, though, stroking slowly and deliberately, matching Jack’s rhythm without ever taking my eyes off of his hand. Seeing him so close, staring at his gorgeous cock, but unable to touch him, makes me physically ache with need. When I glance up at his face, he looks just as hungry as I feel.

 

“You know,” I say, trying to sound casual as I continue to jack off slowly, “I was sort of hoping you would be the one doing this.”

 

He smirks. “Would you like that?”

 

I’m beyond pride, beyond coy games, beyond pretending I don’t want it. “Yes, sir.”

 

His hips jerk forward when I call him _sir_. Interesting; I’ll have to remember that. His rhythm doesn’t falter, though. “All you have to do is ask me.”

 

So I make a nice picture for him. I spread my legs out a little to give him a better view, slowing the pace of my hand even further. With my left hand I reach up, sliding it slowly through my chest hair to cover a nipple, letting out a little moan that’s only partially for show. “Please, Jack. Please touch me, sir.”

 

He’s either satisfied with that or too impatient to make me beg. “Stop,” he says immediately, pulling his own hand away from his cock, and I do the same. Within the space of a second he’s pushing me against the desk, lips on mine for the briefest of moments before he starts moving them down, blazing a hot trail over my jaw, down my neck and along my collarbone, and then down further, down to suck on my nipple and _Jesus Christ_ he feels good. His tongue works over the sensitive skin while he pinches the other one with his thumb and forefinger. I weave my fingers in the short hairs on the back of his head, holding him in place with a vice grip, but somehow also feeling like I’m cradling him to me.

 

All too soon, he grabs my wrist and straightens up enough to place my hand on top of my head. He glares until I put the other one there too. Then he kisses back down, pausing on a nipple and then down more and more, over my stomach and my happy trail and then he’s gripping my cock, moving his lips lightly over the head.

 

“Stop teasing,” I groan, body practically convulsing with need but hands still glued in place on top of my head.

 

He smiles up at me, presses a kiss to each hipbone, and finally, _finally_ takes my cock into the wet heat of his mouth.

 

I let out a choking sob at the first contact, reaching halfway down before remembering myself and forcing my hands back to my head. As he moves, though, it’s too much, and I need something to anchor myself.

 

“Jack,” I pant, “Please, can I touch you? My hands, I need. . .”

 

He nods, still working his mouth over my length, and I immediately bring them down to clutch at his hair. Then he pulls back. “Doing okay?”

 

“Good god, Harkness, don’t stop!” He laughs at my boldness and obeys, covering me with his mouth again, this time pulling me all the way in, his lips coming to meet my body as the tip of my cock presses into his throat.

 

I let out a strangled cry, throwing my head back, and thrust my hips forward involuntarily. He coughs a little and I look down to see his eyes watering as he continues to try to take every inch of me. “Shit, I’m sorry,” I gasp, stroking his forehead and resting my hand on his cheek, forcing him to look up at me.

 

My cock slides out from between his lips and he laughs. “I’m okay, Ianto. I don’t mind. I mean, I _really_ don’t mind. Don’t stop.”

 

“Fuck,” is all I can manage. I go to pull him back to me, but he’s already there, sucking with the most delicious wet noises. He takes me in impossibly deep, somehow engulfing all of me without ever needing to use his hands. I can _feel_ him around me, perfect friction and constant suction and occasional little scrapes of his teeth. And after his invitation, I don’t need to be asked twice. I buck into his mouth almost uncontrollably (it’s a good thing he likes it, honestly – I’m not sure, at this point, that I could hold back if I tried).

 

“Fuck, that’s so good,” I gasp as his fingertips dig into my hips. “Oh, Jack, _yes_. . .” I try to take in every moment as I hurtle toward climax, staring down at him looking nearly as wrecked as I feel – his perfect lips around my cock, dripping saliva, sweat beading along his hairline, eyes locked into mine –

 

It’s the eyes that finally do it, I think. I notice them, and suddenly one of my hands flies to grip his where it’s resting on my hip, and he forces his mouth over my cock one last time and I barely have the presence of mind to gasp out a strangled “Oh god, Jack, I’m coming, _fuck_ –” before he’s swallowing me down, riding out the pulses of cum and the erratic thrusts of my hips. It seems to go on forever until suddenly it’s gone, and I’m sliding down to the floor because my legs won’t hold me up anymore. And he’s there, slightly sticky with sweat but warm and tender, brushing my hair off my forehead and peppering kisses over my chest as I come down.

 

“Shit,” I laugh weakly when my breathing starts to resemble something close to a normal pace.

 

Jack places a final kiss on my shoulder. “You like that?”

 

“I thought that was obvious.”

 

He grins. “Just checking! If it’s anything to you, _I_ loved it.”

 

I worry my lip between my teeth. “Really? I mean, you like doing that? Even when I. . . even when you choked?”

 

Always open, Jack answers me honestly. “I love it. I love making someone feel so good in such an intimate way. And yeah, if it gets a little rough, that’s nice, because it means I’m making them lose control.”

 

With a deep breath, I force myself to ask, “Could I try?”

 

His fingers slide between mine as he looks into my eyes. “You sure? You don’t have to.”

 

“Go on, stand up,” I urge him, and he obeys.

 

He’s hard already, impossibly swollen and pointing straight up against his stomach. Does that mean I can, I dunno, just get to it? He spent so long teasing me. . . do I have to do the same? Or would he rather me start right away?

 

He comes to the rescue. “Open your mouth,” he says gently, taking his cock in his hand. He guides it between my lips but doesn’t force it in, allowing me to move at my own pace.

 

Slowly I slide my mouth down, unable to get even close to the base without choking. I pull back and Jack says nothing, letting me explore. Bringing a hand to cover what I can’t take in, I focus on the head for now, getting to know its smooth texture and salty taste. When I swirl my tongue around it in a circle, Jack grunts and his hands find their way to my hair to pet me gently.

 

A little more confident, I try to take more of him again. Having my hand on the base helps a lot, and somehow I think the soothing pressure of his hands in my hair does too. I look up at him now and then, and he always looks like he’s enjoying it, though he’s quieter than I was. I remember what he said about making the other person lose control, and I know I want to experience that.

 

So I speed up the pace a little, tightening my hand and sucking a little harder. Once in a while I break the rhythm to pull back and just play with the tip, cupping his balls with my hand. The first time I do this, he moans out loud, and I moan around him, and he mutters, “Fuck!” at the feeling of the vibrations. After that I try to hum as much as I can, keeping the faster but irregular pace that he seems to enjoy.

 

As I gain confidence, I start trying to take him even deeper. I know there’s no way I’ll be able to open my throat and let him in like he did for me, so I try to relax and let him at least hit the back of my mouth. Even that’s a little much, and I have to pull off, coughing. Jack’s hands are there, caressing my jawline and smoothing through my hair. I take a moment and return to redouble my efforts. I dimly notice that my mouth is making these obscene wet choking sounds, which I find disgusting and hope Jack doesn’t view the same way. I liked it when I could hear similar sounds from him; is this really what they sounded like? I choke again and Jack stifles a groan. Maybe he really does like it.

 

His moans grow louder, and I decide it’s time to stop breaking the pace. I pull back to suck and lick at the tip one last time before forcing myself down, increasing the rhythm and doing my best not to break it by choking. I moan loudly around him, both to show him that I really am enjoying myself, and to add to the stimulation. He talks to me, silly nonsense and _yes, so good_ and my name most of all. He sings my praises until going suddenly serious.

 

“Ianto, I’m gonna come. Do you need to stop?”

 

I shake my head, never breaking the rhythm. His moans grow louder again as his hips buck slightly; I can tell he’s trying to control the motion but can’t help giving in a little. Finally his hands tighten in my hair and he cries, “Fuck, Ianto, I’m coming, yes –”. He cuts off with a moan as his cock twitches between my lips, and my mouth is suddenly filled with warm salty liquid.

 

This was the part I had been afraid of, I had imagined cum going everywhere and out my nose and not being able to breathe or finding it so disgusting I had to spit it out, but it isn’t so bad at all. It’s simply there, and I swallow it, and then there’s more, so I swallow that too. He seems to come for a long time, and I try to keep sucking to carry him through it, until finally he seems spent.

 

Not quite as wrecked as I had been – at least, still able to stand – he leans down to press a kiss to the top of my head. Without intending to, I yank him down to the floor and pull him close to me. I worry I might seem clingy, but he seems to understand my need for closeness, so we hold each other naked on his office floor for a few minutes.

 

“The others will be back soon,” he groans finally against my shoulder, still not stirring. It’s as if he can feel my question without my having to ask, because he adds, “I may have. . . sent them out for lunch.”

 

I laugh. “You knew this was going to happen?”

 

Tracing a line up and down my spine with his fingers, he shrugs. “I hoped.”


End file.
